


Elijah in Love

by Annwyn



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, con fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annwyn/pseuds/Annwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We will take each moment that we have, and cherish it, and make music of it." <i>And the rest of the world can go hang...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Elijah in Love

I flex my hand painfully, concentrating on the pull of over-strained tendons, the tenderness of abraded pads. It's a safe absorption, and it helps me fake a composure I don't feel.

"Does it hurt, Sean?" The quiet question breaks into my fragile calm and shatters it. I turn from the window and glance toward the bed. He's pushed the pillows up against the headboard and nestles amongst them, his pale face turned towards me.

"Yeah."

"Come here, then," he says. "Let's have a look at it, shall we?"

I have to smile at his choice of words. We've all rubbed off a little on each other, we hobbits. He channels Billy now, and I - well, I seem to have acquired an impressive vocabulary of swear words, and I use them too. I'm always having to watch my mouth around the kids now. I never used to have to.

My hat spins onto the unoccupied bed, and I scrub my fingers through my hair. My thoughts scatter under the intensity of his gaze and adrenaline rushes through my blood to thunder in my ears. _Danger,_ it thrums. _Fight. Flee. Fight it or flee._ I can't move, because neither is a choice I want to make.

He notes my hesitation and a spasm of hurt ticks across his face. His eyes drop and the shadows seem darker, somehow. "I'm sorry, Sean," he mutters, and waves his hand vaguely at the cramped box of a hotel room. "Didn't know they'd put us together. If I'd known..."

His hurt is my undoing. It always is.

"Shut up, Doodle." I let affection weave through the words and warm them. "You've nothing to apologize for." I sink down on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips beneath my weight. He rolls a bit, and I put my hand on his stomach to steady him. The heat of his body spreads up through my fingers, and I fight the urge to fill them with his flesh. "They figure Frodo and Sam go together," I shrug. "It's only for an hour, anyway." _What can happen in an hour?_

"You know what I mean." The whisper is almost inaudible, but I don't have to hear it to understand. He lifts my hand and studies it. "It's swollen," he remarks and his thumb digs into my palm, massaging it with a firm, circling stroke. He spreads my fingers and bends them slowly backwards, stretching their sinews, and I gasp softly. He stops and smoothes them back in apology.

"You didn't have to agree to it, you know," he says bluntly. "You've been signing autographs and giving interviews the whole damn day. You're tired out. Even the fans can see that."

"Leave it, Elwood," I tell him. "An extra hour isn't too much - and you're a fine one to talk, anyway. You're just as bad as I am."

"Lie down and rest, then," he urges. "You've got time enough for that."

He tugs at my hand and scoots back to make room for me. As soon as I slide in, he wriggles back, his head on my shoulder, his body warm against my side. Just as we were, so many times before. We fit, as we always do, and I feel - complete. I look down at him and smile. He still has possession of my hand, is still working it. His lashes lie thickly against his cheek, and a pulse beats at his temple, barely contained by his translucent skin.

There's a special something that babies and most young animals share - that wide-eyed, vulnerable, innocent look. It arouses an instinct to protect and nurture, a defense against a dangerous world. He has that look. Perhaps that's why he's so attractive to women. I wonder if that's also part of his attraction for me. I kiss the crown of his head, and it feels like plush velvet against my lips.

_My lamb...my shorn lamb._

His legs move restlessly, and my eyes tick to his groin and away. _Oh God...please..._ And then he speaks, and I have to strain my ears to hear him.

"It's not working, Sean." My arm tightens around him, and I can hear the defeat in his voice. "It's been so long, and it hasn't gone away."

"No," I reply, my voice hoarse in the silence. "I didn't think it would."

"What will we do?"

I don't know what to say, don't know how to comfort him. I can hear Gandalf's voice again, _'What will you do with the time that is given to you?'_ And I twist that sage advice to my own selfish need and answer him.

"We will take each moment that we have, and cherish it, and make music of it." _And the rest of the world can go hang..._

*****

There's a kind of nakedness that has nothing to do with a lack of clothing. I peel off his personas with his clothes - there goes _geeky Elijah_; good-bye, _dorky Elijah_; hello, _buddy Elijah_; and oh-so _proper Elijah_. Layers that armor him against his chosen world.

Then there is nothing left but Elijah in love, and he is mine.

"We don't have much time," I gasp, trailing kisses over his skin.

"You think that's a problem?" He pushes into my touch, his hands buried in my hair. "Fuck, Sean - it's been so goddamn long since we... I swear - you breathe on me, and I'll come!"

I can't help it. That thrill of possession. _Mine_, it says to me.

He's almost right, too. I tongue his balls, suck them gently into my mouth, and he whimpers, his fingers scrabbling on the sheets. I take him deep, and work my throat around him, and I feel his thighs tense and start to quiver. _"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,"_ and then he comes, bitter at the back of my throat, and I swallow it all. And he is saltysweet as I slowly slide him out.

It doesn't take me much longer to finish, either. Just the sight of his pink lips tight around my cock renders me speechless with desire. We cling to each other afterwards, and the world is sane again.

He pauses, his buttons half-done, and he eyes me quizzically.

"Um - Sean?" he begins. "You said, _'When I held Elijah Wood in my arms...'_ Why me, Sean? Why didn't you say 'Frodo'?

"How did you... oh."

"Yeah. Dom ratted on you."

"Wanker."

"Just a 'heads-up', he said."

I look at him pleadingly. "I don't know. It just seemed right somehow. To point out what really mattered, y'know, what was really sacred to _me_. Do you mind?"

"Of course not." He reassures me with a kiss. "But your mouth is gonna get you into trouble one of these days. You outing us now, Sean?"

His eyes are alight with mischief, and I grin at him.

"Yeah. Hey, World - this is my lover. Ain't he wonderful?" And he laughs in delight and hugs me tight.

We walk down the hallway, flanked by our security outriders, and I drop back a bit to watch him. A diminutive knight in unseen armor, the very flower of chivalry. He sallies forth to tilt at the windmills of convention, and he is stronger than anyone can see.

And I? I smile to myself at the image in my mind. A small, fat hobbit, on a donkey.

_I am his squire. I hold his lance._


End file.
